Under Suspicion: Lock and Key
by Sci-Fy-Fanatic
Summary: This is me trying to get my muse back... Sherlock and Krystine have been together for ages... She vanished in her late teens and was never heard from again... until a raid led by Mycroft finds the battered and bruised other half of Sherlock Holmes...
1. Chapter 1

**Because of Jim, I had to load this... just a drabble... I don't know if this will actually go anywhere. I have many ideas, but have no story line or plot... Also I'm getting a beta soon so you guys won't suffer... I've given you a glimpse, FanFictioners—just a teensy glimpse—of what I've got going on in my mind...**

**So my idea for this is to have this girl enter Sherlock's life in an early stage, they grow up together, become family. And Sherlock being himself, doesn't realize that he truly loves her until she searches for normality in her lifNo.**

**Another thing you need to know is that Krystine ****_loves_**** Phantom of the Opera... Sooooo~**

**Enjoy, and pass me a message, give me your thoughts...**

* * *

When he received a call from Mycroft telling him to rush to the hospital the last person he expected to see there was Krystine Elizabeth Youngchild, the woman he knew in many ways. She had been his friend, his sister, helper, and his first and only lover. Sherlock Holmes rushed to her side when he was able to control his movements again.

A chair had been moved to her bedside, put there by Mycroft no doubt, and now sat empty. Outside of his character, he hurriedly sat and took her hand in his and began to stroke the back of it with his thumb. From here he could examine the unconscious body Krystine.

Most obvious, her left leg lay out from beneath the best bed sheet encased in a bright green cast. _Her captors didn't want her to escape._ A splint held her left wrist strait. _She fought back at some point. _Peaking out from the splint were angry blue and purple bruises. They were reflected onto the other wrist._ She was bound and grabbed restrained with a cord possibly. _A small cut was bandaged with a butterfly strip on her cheek, rich above where he knew her dimples were when she smiled. _The area around the cut has discoloration, she took a hit to the face, the attacker was wearing a ring._ Her hair, which was long and held back with a band last time he saw her, was unevenly cut and unwashed. It had frizzed with the lack of care. Overall, she was malnourished and a sickly shade of pale. Her ten year abduction had taken a toll on her body.

Mycroft choose then to walk in, holding papers in one hand while holding his phone to his ear with the other.

"... I will tell him, yes. Good night Ms. Youngchild."

Sherlock's head shot up to look at his brother as he hung up the phone.

"What did she say?"

"She asked me to pass on a 'hello' and is excited to see you next week."

"You didn't tell her." Sherlock moved his gaze back to the woman.

"No," Mycroft moved a chair on the opposite side of the bed closer and sat down. "We didn't find Krystine's captors, only her. I had all files on her whereabouts changed; according to her papers, we are in our cousin's room. Allison Orthors, daughter of Aunt Marie: deceased."

"And you are sure they won't find her here?"

Mycroft hid a smile from the concern his younger brother released in his voice; glanced down at the thumb still stroking the back of Kristine's hand, Mycroft doubted that Sherlock even knew he was doing it.

"I have my ways Little Brother. My concern for her may not out way yours, but she was, is, a friend to me as well."

The older Holmes' phone rang. "You have?"

He stood to leave, " Yes, I'm on my way."

He ended the call and turned to look at his brother.

"Did they find him?"

"No, a lead."

There was a silence between them and Mycroft turned to make his exit. Sherlock's gaze remained on Krystine's body.

"Mycroft," said man stopped at the threshold of the hospital room.

Sherlock turned his head to look at his older brother. "Thank you; for finding her."

Mycroft smiled, a genuine smile, it had been years since Sherlock had actually been sincere and had voiced it in a 'thank you'.

"If it meant to make you happy, I would do most anything for you Sherlock."

With another wink of a smile, Mycroft left the room. And once again Sherlock was alone with the still body of his Angel of Music.

* * *

**Thoughts?**

**Did you see what I did there? In the note in the beginning?**


	2. Chapter 2

**So I got some bites with the pathetic excuse of a first chapter... Here's another... and yes I know he's out of character... but it's my story and (if victoria or jenna ever read this) 'I do what I want!'**

**lol... anyways enjoy...OH! and if you have questions, don't hesitate to ask.**

**Um..** _This is memories/flashbacks_** but it will be in a chunk, the second to last line isn't a flashback/memory. And** This is normal, common, present time...** Understand? Good? Okay... now... READ MY MINIONS! jk :)**

* * *

_Sherlock, even at his young age could tell that the new 'neighbors' were grieving. The mother wore a gold chain with a man's gold band hanging from it. If that wasn't it, her dark clothing practically shouted widow. The daughter he had seen once, when she returned from the funeral. Well, he figured it was a funeral, the black dress she wore would have only suited that type of event, or she was into the gothic culture that her home was styled after._

_Much like his ancestral home, the new neighbors' house was more like a mansion. The Holmes estate larger than theirs, but a huge space none the less. They came from wealth, maybe the death in the family had led to their new rise in prosperity, but why would they still but up the appearance of grief? Surly they were happy with the money, that's all that mattered in today's world._

_Mummy Holmes choose then to walk in on her youngest son and break the news to him._

_"Sherlock dear, do make yourself presentable, Mrs. Youngchild and her daughter are coming over for tea. You wouldn't want to make a bad impression on them would you?"_

_"Of course not Mummy," Sherlock said before continuing in his head, '_Why would I want to make you look bad?_"_

_"Good boy, now, go clean up," She ruffled his hair and exited his room, no doubt to go pass the message on to Mycroft._

_ Sherlock had to make sure that the cringe didn't show when she had messed with his hair. It was a curly mess without her help. Turning from the window the young Holmes went to go 'clean up' as his Mummy had said. This entailed putting on, what Mummy called, his company clothes; a posh outfit that consisted of a trouser, white dress shirt and a vest. After redressing, Sherlock tried to brush his hair into submission; needless to say, the unruly curls were not having it. _

_Deciding that his dark mop of a hairdo was 'presentable', Sherlock slunk downstairs to the parlor where Mummy and Mycroft were all ready entertaining the woman-in-morning and the never-seen-daughter._

_"Here he is," Mummy stood up to usher him in closer, Mycroft was giving him a 'behave yourself' look. "This is my youngest son, Sherlock."_

_He forced a friendly smile and a 'good afternoon' before the mother introduced she and her daughter._

_"Elizabeth Youngchild and my daughter Krystine," she smiled genially and shook his offered hand, gesturing to Krystine when they finished._

_'_Americans,_' Sherlock deduced by her accent, '_Lovely.'

_Krystine offered her hand as well, her smile as faked as his, they shook hands as well and they sat back down, Sherlock in the only empty chair next to Krystine. Mycroft sent him a 'well done' smile and returned to being social. That was his contribution to the tea time chatter. _

_Holmes, the younger, spent the socialite's time examining both of the Youngchilds. The mother seemed to not be enjoying her time. Her eye's jumped to the clock on the far wall every few minutes and she held her back straight, and not for the sake of etiquette. Her clothing still marked her as a woman in mourning, a black blouse and matching skirt that flowed down to her shins. Krystine was dressed in a blue dress that flared out from the under bust hemming, white leggings and brown ballet flats. She held her tea cup in her left hand, but there were no calluses on either index finger. That confused him. He spent most of the time trying to figure her out. _

_Mycroft cleared his throat, noticing his little brother staring at the young girl, he did not want his little brother scaring the Youngchilds off._

_ Three pairs of eyes turned to look at him, "Pardon me."_

_Mummy and Mrs. Youngchild continued their conversation. Krystine smiled all-knowingly and tilted her head towards Sherlock, her smirk growing. Sherlock, who still was looking at his brother, silently trying to scream at him for disturbing his deductions, missed the small exchange between his brother and his current victim of his deductions. When he did turn back she was sipping tea._

_The gossip between the parents continued until Mrs. Youngchild turned to Sherlock._

_"Sherlock," His gaze turned from daughter to mother. "Krystine has a Nintendo, why don't you two go on over to our house and play?"_

_Sherlock opened his mouth to decline when Krystine stood up and nudged his shoulder. "Of course Ma, if that is alright with you Mrs. Holmes?"_

_Mummy Holmes nodded, "No, go ahead, have fun you two."_

_ Sherlock joined Krystine, standing, but before they left the room his mother shouted one last thing to him, "Behave yourself!"_

_"Don't worry Mrs. Holmes," she turned around at the door, "I think I can handle him. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mycroft." She gave his mother and brother a cheeky smile before leaving._

_'_Like hell, you will!'_ The thought crossed Sherlock's mind._

_Both children left the Holmes estate, hand in hand, Krystine dragged an un-thrilled Sherlock to her home and practically shove him through the front door. She released his hand to shut the door._

_"You are daft if you think I will play some silly game with you." The boy said, eyeing the girl._

_"And you're silly for thinking I would be daft enough to want to play silly games!" She countered, shocking him. "I don't even have a Nintendo, Ma made that up."_

_ "I would have figured you had one, being American and all."_

_Krystine scoffed, "Just because I'm an American, doesn't mean I sit down in front a telly and play games all day!"_

_"No? What do you do then?" Sherlock asked, seeing that this little encounter was starting to head down hill quickly._

_"I do what you do, though, I don't play the violin." The girl smiled in triumph._

'How did she know I play the violin, the instrument is in my room, she couldn't have seen it!'_ His thoughts were racing. His opinion of this little American girl had suddenly changed._

_"How did you…"_

_"How did I know? Well, I saw the piano when your mother brought Ma and I into the parlor, but I didn't think you played. But your mother and elder brother do. You however, you have the finger length for it but your left hand pinky, your fourth finger, is beginning to curve. The finger pads of that hand are flat and have calluses, that, and your brother told me. He said we should play something together."_

_Sherlock looked at the girl with awe, she was defiantly not boring like he originally believed._

_"Bet you didn't expect that? I saw you looking at Ma and me at tea. I recognized that look, I do it myself. But I think you're much better at it." She interlocker her fingers in front of her and looked down at them. "It was my father who died, before you ask." _

_What could he say? Sorry? That doesn't mean anything._

_"He got sick and Mom brought us here to take over the company after he passed away. He…" She trailed off before straightening back up and wiping away a tear from her eye. "Forget that, I'm just rambling. Sorry."_

_This girl, Krystine couldn't have been more than eight and yet she was able to act as someone twice that._

_"No, it's fine."_

_"Um, would you like some tea?"_

_"I think I can manage that, you're not as boring as I thought you were going to be."_

_Krystine motioned for him to follow him to the kitchen, "Was that a compliment?"_

_"Mycroft would say it was."_

_"Was it?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then thank you, you're not too bad yourself?"_

_"Thank you?"_

_"You're welcome."_

It was almost nine; the nurses would be kicking him out soon. Sherlock stood, straightened out the dress shirt, put on his suit jacket, retrieved the wool Belstaff and dark blue scarf, putting them on in that order, then brushed the cropped hair from her forehead before he bent to press his lips to it, wishing she would wake up then and there. But it never happened.

Sherlock sighed and turned to leave. "I'll come again tomorrow."

If he wanted to, he could imagine the heart monitor speeding up slightly when he spoke, only if he wanted to believe she could actually hear him in comatose. With a final glance at the sleeping woman, the consulting detective left the room whistling tune to himself.

_Wishing you were somehow here again…_

Krystine was here, but now he just needed her to wake up.

* * *

**And now you guys have more stuff to go off of...**

**I will tell you guys now, that I have no real plan for this story, so things may/may not jump around a bit. I haven't really put much thought into the actual timeline, other than Sherlock and Krystine are three years apart. Sherlock jumps when he's 32 (I don't really know) that makes Krystine 29. She is kidnapped when she's 18,near her birthday, found ten years later. Yeah, can't say anything else... Well, and that in this chapter she is seven, Sherlock is ten... Yeah...**


End file.
